Page 37 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“Miss Claeg. Amara,” Brock entreated when she flinched at the warm, large hand on her shoulder. “I understand a promise has been made.” He sent Tipton a look to keep him silent on the matter, but Amara missed it. “I can admire such integrity. It is something I have always liked about you.”
“You forgot to mention my gullibility, sir.” Amara’s lips thinned. “If you think flattery will sway me.”
Tipton moved as if to pounce. “I have had enough of this banter! Let’s take her to my town house. I possess items that will make even the most stalwart gain their tongues.”
Brock leaned his arm across her to block Tipton from touching her. “Threats of torture will only scare her speechless, man. Bury your emotions, for I need you to think of places we might search.”
Brock’s features softened when he looked at her. Amara reminded herself that he was ruthless, too. He would do and say anything to gain what he wanted.
“You have been growing up while my back was turned, little one.”
She bit her lower lip to keep from stuttering, not realizing her innocent actions seemed provocative. Nor did she react to Brock’s answering flare of awareness in his pale green eyes.
“Bloody bad timing to play with a bit of skirt, Bedegrayne,” Tipton muttered.
“Find your own gel.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, you fool!”
Brock ignored him. “Your hair always reminded me of polished mahogany.” He leaned forward and pressed his nose into her hair. “Mmm, and smells of lemons. Nice.”
Amara tried to temper the thrill of having him so close that she could taste his breath. Unrequited love may inspire the poets, but for a young woman it sentenced her to life as a spinster. “You are very good at this, my lord. Never have I heard such false words ring true. Doran always thought you Bedegraynes had the stuff for the stage.”
Brock frowned at her lightly spoken words, feeling the sting of the backhanded slap. “I do not lie.”
“Only when it suits you. Do not worry, sir; I understand it is the male way.” She glanced at Lord Tipton, noting his incredulous look of disbelief at their exchange. She preferred it at the moment to Brock’s false, flattering concern.
“Who hurt you, dove?”
Dove. It was a playful nickname of childhood. When she was a child it had made her feel special. It inflicted pain on the woman she had become. “I do not see how it is any of your concern.”
Sensing this was a locked door she would not open to him tonight, Brock allowed the subject to drop. She saw a flash of his white teeth, and could not prevent him from twisting a curl around his fingers. “I vow, I cannot believe you permitted Devona to douse you in henna.”
Amara thought back to the battle of wills she had fought with Devona and lost. She always lost when facing a Bedegrayne. “When she is on a mission, you know there is no stopping her.”
The enlightenment she saw in both men’s expressions had her silently cursing them both.
Brock gave Amara’s shoulder a comforting stroke, but his triumph left her cold. “I only know of one mission which Devona seeks to accomplish. The saving of Doran Claeg. Is this how she lured the most sensible little dove I know? She swore your actions would help him?”
“What could she hope to gain at this hour?” Tipton wondered aloud.
Amara switched her gaze from one side to the next, attempting to keep the tears that burned her eyes from falling. Her mother had been right. The Bedegraynes were nothing but users. They employed their beauty and cunning to trip up the lesser mortals. She had been conned by a master. The bitterness she felt dried the oncoming tears. One day she would gain satisfaction from Brock Bedegrayne. Unfortunately, tonight she would sup on defeat.
“If you halt the coach and grant me leave, I will tell you where to find her.”
Tipton rapped on the trapdoor to alert the coachman. Brock blocked her escape. “There is no manner in which you can convince me to allow a lady to walk the streets at night.”
“As Lord Tipton pointed out, after word gets out, no one will ever consider me a lady. You have ruined me.”
If Amara’s tone lacked emotion, Brock made up for it with the passion in his. “By God, do you think I would allow a scandal to touch you for protecting my sister and her insane notion of duty?”
“That protection will likely get your sister in trouble if not worse.”
“Still that tongue, Tipton, before I split it myself!” The coach had stopped. “Tell us what you know and we will collect Devona. Tomorrow, we will straighten out what thetonthought they saw at the ball.”
Amara slipped under his arm and was out the door before he could grasp her skirts. “Such concern, Mr. Bedegrayne. You break my heart,” she mocked. The tears in her eyes showed them both how ill-used she felt. “Devona is at Newgate. As you both thought, she has a plan to rescue Doran. Good evening.” Her cloak twirled around her as she began her walk in the opposite direction from the one in which the coach was heading.
She managed to get ten feet from the coach before the world tilted. She screamed, frantically reaching for something to steady herself, and found purchase clutching Brock’s muscled shoulders. “Put me down, you lying rogue.”
